


For Many Years We've Been All Alone: Notes and Deleted Scenes

by Krasimer



Series: For Many Years We've Been All Alone [9]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Cut Scenes, Deleted Scenes, F/F, Late Night Writing, M/M, Post-it Notes, Read the rest of the series, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, trust me - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 03:24:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12950268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krasimer/pseuds/Krasimer
Summary: While writing the soon-to-be-over monstrosity that is my FNaF AU, I wrote some scenes that I ended up not liking.Like...At all.Or rather, I liked them, but not in the context of the story. I hope you guys at least somewhat like them.





	For Many Years We've Been All Alone: Notes and Deleted Scenes

Foxy's crew is: Dota, Felix, Edward, Frieda, Bernard, Harris, Isaac, and Reyna (Mangle).

Is Mike a ghost wandering around is his own corpse? Is he possessing the body that DianaGhost kept alive through sheer force of will, and will he get into a fight with Golden Freddy that forces him out of his body?

Yes, I think might be the answer to all of that. YES.

Michelle's gonna build him a bot body :D (Because his organic one starts decomposing while he's still in it. Yeuch.)

Ghost!Jeremy and Ghost!Harvey, in possession of the animatronic suits, come tumbling out of the backstage area and knock into Mike. The three of them pile up, with Jeremy grabbing for Mike's throat. This causes Mike to lose hold of the possession of his own body, knocking him loose. In the process, Mike catches ahold of a memory from the two ghosts: Jeremy pressing Harvey up against a wall, kissing him until he's breathless, calling him "Harv". As the memory fades out, Mike can see the outline of human shaped Harvey within the suit, and the two of them work together to banish Jeremy.

 

 [Dr. Alfred Lanning](http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000342/?ref_=tt_trv_qu): [voiceover] There have always been ghosts in the machine. Random segments of code, that have grouped together to form unexpected protocols. Unanticipated, these free radicals engender questions of free will, creativity, and even the nature of what we might call the soul. Why is it that when some robots are left in darkness, they will seek out the light? Why is it that when robots are stored in an empty space, they will group together, rather than stand alone? How do we explain this behavior? Random segments of code? Or is it something more? When does a perceptual schematic become consciousness? When does a difference engine become the search for truth? When does a personality simulation become the bitter mote... of a soul?

 

 

 

Fredrick Fazio Age-Year chart

28-57

38-67

48-77

58-87

 

 

May, 1966:

All four get hired at Fazbear's.

Lenora: 16 (Birthday: 5/21/50)

William: 18 (Birthday: 1/23/50)

Jeremy: 17

Harvey: 17

Orsani: 31

Henry Dunwicke: 35 (39 when he started officially working for Fazbear’s.)

 

'76:

Lenora: 26

William: 28

Jeremy: 27

Harvey: 27

Orsani: 41

Mike: 1

Michelle: 3

Brianna: 4

Artem: Tiny baby

Riley: Not born yet

Charlie: 10

 

'87:

Lenora: 37

William: 39

Jeremy: 38

Harvey: 38

Orsani: 52

Mike: 12

Michelle: 14

Brianna: 15

Artem: 11

Riley: 10

Charlie: 21

 

'97:

Lenora: 47

William: 49

Jeremy: Dead

Harvey: 48

Orsani: 62

Mike: 22

Michelle: 24

Brianna: 25

Artem: 21

Riley: 20

Charlie: 31

 

'09:

Lenora: 59

William: 61

Jeremy: Deceased

Harvey: Deceased

Orsani: DING DONG THE WITCH IS DEAD

Mike: Android

Michelle: 36

Brianna: 37

Artem: 33

Riley: 32

Charlie: 43

 

'15

Lenora: 65

William: 67

Jeremy: Deceased

Harvey: Deceased

Orsani: DING DONG THE WITCH IS DEAD

Mike: Android

Michelle: 42

Brianna: 43

Artem: 38

Riley: 37

Charlie: 49

 

'20

Lenora: 70

William: 72

Jeremy: Deceased

Harvey: Deceased

Orsani: DING DONG THE WITCH IS DEAD

Mike: Android

Michelle: 47

Brianna: 48

Artem: 43

Riley: 42

Charlie: 54

 

 

**Laughlin**  Name  **Meaning**. Irish: reduced Anglicized form of Gaelic Ó Lochlainn 'descendant of Lochlann', a personal name  **meaning**  'stranger', originally a term denoting Scandinavia (a compound of loch 'lake', 'fjord' + lann 'land').

 

Edmund, the Chica who declared himself male, is the ghost of Henry Dunwicke.

 

"Hey kids!" Freddy greeted as the group sitting in front of the stage quieted down. "I hear that it's someone's birthday today!"

"Oh!" Bonnie giggled, purple eyes wide under the stage lights. "I know who, Freddy!" they pretended to scan the crowd, a hand above their eyes to shield them from the lights. "Let’s see..." the leaned forward, almost off the stage, and pointed at a girl sitting at the back. "There she is!"

The girl squealed happily, raising her hands above her head. "Hi Bonnie, Hi Freddy!" she called back, waving excitedly. Pinned to her chest was a badge that read, 'I'm seven today!'.

"Well, this next song is dedicated to you, alright birthday girl?" Irasa called from her spot near Freddy.

"Yeah!" the girl called back, cheeks flushed from the combination of pizza, cake, ice cream and candy that she had been fed earlier.

 

 

Brianna looked up when Michelle entered the room, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “Should be here, soon.”

“Yeah,” Michelle sat down next to her, taking her hands in her own. “Laughlin and Mike are talking right now. Everything went a little strange with them, so I figured it was best to give them time alone together. Make sure everything is alright. Make sure Laughlin is alright.”

“Is he really like Mike, then?”

Michelle nodded. “If you look at the photos of the original circuit board that functioned as his ‘brain’, there are places that look like your dad’s ghost-binding design. I guess what’s bugging me about it is, for that to happen, Charlie’s dad would have had to have known about the murders and the experiments and the ghosts.”

 

 

“Oh, no,” Charlie shook her head. “My dad came up with the original designs. He was in his late thirties when he got the job there. Mom was a lot younger than he was. Fazio was an old friend who was commissioning the animatronics from him. Even before he was fully officially hired, dad was making the bodies for the animatronics. Found them tampered with, one night. I guess that was when they started hiring security guards? He came in to do some maintenance and he found that Foxy had been messed with.”

“…Do you remember when that happened?” Brianna asked quietly, Michelle’s eyes wide and her mouth hanging open.

Charlie made a face, looking to one side as she tried to remember. “I think it was in nineteen-sixty-nine? I didn’t find out until a lot later, when I found dad’s notes. Found his old journals and things. I can hand them off to you, if you’d like. I know you like mechanics. Scared mom so much when you announced that was where you were going with things. She didn’t like the idea of you being so much like dad was.”

“Yeah,” Michelle managed to recover after a second. “…Do you know what the third owner’s name was? We’re having some trouble figuring that out. It seems to be either William Afton or Lawrence Briggs. And I know you knew him as ‘Dave’.”

“I don’t think he ever actually got pinned down under a single name,” Charlie put a hand over her mouth as she thought, her eyebrows drawn down. “I know Dave was a fake name he used to get in close to the project. I also remember something about some of the murders not being able to be tied back to the people who were sentenced for them? Something about them only confessing to a certain number of them…”

Brianna nodded. “Yeah, I heard about that. And-” she cut a glance towards her wife, frowning for a second. “So…By this point, you’ve probably figured out that something weird was going on.”

“Oh, definitely,” Charlie looked at her, waiting. “You want to tell me about that?”

“…When I came to work for the restaurant, things were weird. It was still about two years before you faced off against Dave or Lawrence or William, whatever his name was. We…About eight years after that, Mike started working there, too. Our Mike, I mean. Not…Not Bri’s cousin.” Michelle looked at her sister and sighed. “You have to understand, everything was weird. And I mean _weird._ Some days I wake up and I still can’t quite believe what we’ve gone through.”

“What did you go through?” Charlie’s eyebrow jumped up, worrying running across her face. “You never told me the full story.”

“I found out that most of the animatronics your dad had created were sentient.” Michelle’s hands twisted together and she closed her eyes. “A couple of them weren’t. The balloon kids were just being possessed by Fazio’s children. The ones who had died, years before we even got there.”

“…Sentient?” Charlie’s other eyebrow joined the first and she blinked a couple of times. “Of all the things you could have said, that…Actually makes the most sense. How?”

“We don’t know. I’ve looked over Henry’s notes so many times I think they’re imprinted on the insides of my eyelids and I still don’t know how. I guess it’s just…Ghosts in the machinery. Unexpected leaps and sparks of life,” Michelle laughed a little. “Afton was hired on as a security expert, that much I can find. He was a programmer. A coder.”

“Dad was an engineer,” Charlie’s voice was full of fond memories instead of the sadness that had once been there. “He built them from the ground up. A bit of a programmer, too, but I suppose it would have necessarily been needed if there was sentience somehow. The circuit boards they run through wouldn’t need programmer in the way Afton would have provided.”

“As for the tampering with Foxy,” Brianna took her wife’s hand. “We think Afton might have switched out the circuit board.”

“Oh?”

“Ghosts are a thing too,” Michelle nodded. “Probably should have told you that.”

Charlie shook her head, brushing her still-dark-brown hair out of her face. “I actually knew that one already. Mike, my friend Mike, Brianna’s cousin. When Afton had us cornered, trying to kill us, he was there. He was running around in one of the animatronics, one of the older ones. The Spring Lock series.”

“Afton was the one who helped make those ones programmable,” Michelle nodded. “And they’re sentient too.”

“Geez,” Charlie winced. “People died in those suits. How would you feel if you had someone inside of you and they died? That must have sucked so much for them.”

“You’re taking this surprisingly well,” Brianna looked at her for a moment, studying her face.

“I nearly got killed by a guy who liked murdering children,” Charlie shrugged. “He murdered my brother. I lost a twin to him. It’s nice to finally get some answers. Even if the answers sound weird and confusing, they’re still answers. No one else has ever really had the chance to figure this stuff out like you and your friends.”

A knock sounded through the room.

The three women turned to look at the entranceway in the same moment. “Oh,” Michelle nodded at Mike, waving him in. “Is something wrong?”

“I think I’ve figured out who the second mechanical ghost is,” he said quietly. “I don’t know which person became the ghost, but I do know which animatronic it is. Laughlin,” he turned around and smiled at the man behind him. “Agrees with me.”

“Yeah,” Laughlin nodded, then spotted Charlie. “Ah.”

“Hello,” she waved at him, looking a little confused. “Do I…Know you? You seem really familiar.”

“You kind of know me for two reasons,” he admitted it slowly. “And what I say about it depends on how much they’ve told you. About things. And ghosts. And us.”

She stood up and walked over to him, crossing her arms as she looked at him, studying his face. “I think we might have met before,” she offered him her hand. “I’m Charlie Denwicke. Charlotte, really, but I go by Charlie.” She tipped her head to Mike for a moment. “I’m guessing you’re Laughlin?”

“Yeah.” Laughlin nodded and took it, shaking somewhat firmly. “We had an animatronic named after you. A cat. His name was Charlie.”

“Oh, are you one of the animatronics my sister turned into androids?” Charlie laughed. “Michelle does fantastic work. I’m glad she was able to help you. I still…They just told me about my father’s creations being sentient, so it’s a little much to take in. Which one were you?”

“…I was Foxy. The pirate.” Laughlin’s smile was nervous and Charlie’s entire expression froze as she jerked back a little. “Yeah, that was the second time we had met.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**(I AM NOT SURE I LIKE THIS BIT)**

 

A little while later, back at the Hostess's podium, Dota smiled at several family groups who were coming in just to have dinner.

"Hello, and welcome to Freddy's Pizza!" she greeted a group of three. The two girls smiled at her, their mother signaling that it was just the three of them. "Alright, so we're going to seat you guys right near the kitchens, is that okay?" she picked up a couple of menus, the mom already nodding.

One of the girls, the shorter of the two, put a steadying hand on her sister's shoulder. "Bee," she started, a warning in her voice. "Don't trip on the edge of the carpet."

The taller girl, who appeared to actually be the younger, heaved a sigh. "I'm not going to trip." she stuck her tongue out at her sister. When she looked up at Dota, her eyes went wide for a moment, the look on her face sliding into awestruck. "Oh!"

Their mom sat down at the table, engaging her older daughter in a conversation about something.

The younger daughter stood still, a hand on the tabletop.

Dota looked down at her, head tilted. "Anything you needed help with?" she asked a grin on her face. "Do you want a menu you can color?" she gestured back to the front door. "I'm sorry, I seem to have grabbed the boring ones."

"No," the little girl reached for her hand. "You have my key."

Their hands connected, the little girl's surprisingly warm. Dota felt herself tense up, eyes wide as she crouched down. "What do you mean?" she asked quietly. A smile on her face still, she looked up and over the little girl's shoulder. "The key on my necklace, you mean? I've had it for about eleven years now. Someone very important to me gave it to me."

"I know!" the little girl whispered, eyes wide. "I told Mike to give it to you."

"Isabelle, sit down." her mother chided from her own seat. Isabelle's sister looked at her, eyebrows furrowed. "The faster you sit down, the faster you get food." she looked over her shoulder. "Or did you want to go see Pirate's Cove while we're waiting?"

Isabelle turned to her mom. "Sorry mama!" she squeaked, sliding into the booth next to her sister.

The three of them tucked their faces into one of the menus when Dota set it down, discussing in hushed voices what they were going to order for dinner. Carefully, after telling them that she would be back in a few minutes, Dota hurried over to Mike.

Mike now stood at the door to the Cove, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Foxy racing around on the stage with some of the other's of his crew.

"Mike?" Dota whispered, hands twisted together, a frown on her face. "Mike, I need to talk to you."

He turned to her, arms falling to his sides. "Dota, hey." he frowned, then leaned closer to her. "What's wrong? You look like one of the ghosts is back." he looked startled, then shook his head. "They're not, are they?"

The seam on his wrist matched hers as she took his hand and dragged him to the office. When they got there, she pushed the door closed, glad for the remodelling that had occurred to return normal doors to the space. "I don't know how to classify this." she started, jamming the heel of her hand into her forehead. "There's a little girl out there right now, in the dining area with her mom and sister, who recognized the key."

Mike's frown deepened, his eyebrows furrowed. "It's a skeleton key."

"No, Mike, she called it hers." Dota cut him off with a raised hand when he tried to answer that. "As in, she told me that she had you give it to me." When Mike's eyes went wide in surprise, she nodded. "Yeah."

 

 

**(OR THIS ONE)**

 

Reyna stood off to the side, her hands twisted together in the fabric of her skirt. "I wanted to ask you something." she spoke after a few minutes of watching him do a short run through. When he turned to face her, the tip of his sword in the stage between his feet, she sighed, a hand scrubbing tiredly at her face.

"What is it ye wanted ta ask me? Ye seem ta be all knotted up with it." he slid his sword into the sheath on his belt. "Lass?" stepping forward when she hid her face in her hands, he put a hand on her shoulder. "Reyna?"

"I'm sorry!" she whined, mouth falling open. "I just miss her!"

"Wha-" Foxy pulled back for a moment, not sure what to do with his hands. "Reyna?"

"It's hard to watch Chica everyday, I can't stand it!" she sobbed, her hands covering her eyes in a furious clench of anguish. "It's not her, it's not the right one! And I know it's not her and I know that it's not right and I know that it won't ever be what I remember because it's not her!" she was shaking now, dropping to her knees on the stage, her head bumping against Foxy's knee. "I know I said that there was probably no reason to wake them up, but I can't-" she cut herself off with a cry.

Foxy dropped down beside her, an arm around her shoulder. "Reyn?" he asked quietly.

"The programming was copied, the sentience copied over." she whispered, sobs subsiding now, making way for the hollow feeling that was taking over her entire system. "So it's not worth it to have two versions of someone, especially if they have different sets of memories."

"Did your version of Chica have something happen to her?" Foxy asked quietly.

Reyna shook her head, hands buried in the wild curls around her face. "The version of Chica I knew...We had something similar to what you and Mike have. We had our own little version of it, and I made myself think that I could-" she cut off, a small intake of breath that just about broke Foxy's heart.

He gathered her close, then picked her up, making his way carefully off the stage. Behind him, he kicked the sign for the Cove over, to the side that informed whoever was looking that the show would be back in just a little while. "We're goin' ta speak with Michelle." he informed her, ignoring her almost pathetic attempts to get him to set her down. "And we're going ta speak with the lass, and we're going ta make this better."

"But two versi-"

"It does not matter," he told her firmly, determination settling on his face. "If it makes yeh be happier, then there is plenty o' cause fer us ta have another Chica running around. I know that if I were ta be separated from Mike fer years, then I'd have similar problems."

 

 

_Once Is Chance,_

Mike Schmidt was twelve years old when he died.

The blood pooled across the floor and there was screaming and panic. The parents who had been watching were frightened and the children surrounding him were in a state of confusion and terror that would take them years to work their way out again.

The grinding of small bones in gears had been the cause.

But little Mike Schmidt had done one thing the dead were never supposed to do: He had woken up.

 

_Twice_ _is Coincidence,_

Mike Schmidt was twenty-one years old when he died.

He had been working the night shift and then he had been the manager and the dangers were supposed to be over. The killer was caught, the murderer gone, and things were supposed to be happy again. The animatronics were seen in daylight once more, former glories restored. The world was changing, android rights growing by leaps and bounds as they became more prevalent in society. They were starting to be everywhere.

Michelle was doing her best to keep up and make things better for those in her care.

But Mike was caught up in the middle of it.

The dead were not supposed to wake for a _reason._ Waking up from being dead was a nightmare in itself. Nightmares manifest in different ways, sometimes even when you think you’d gotten away from them.

_Three Times_ _Is A Pattern._

Mike Schmidt was older than anyone ever thought when he died.

His official, original, hidden-for-ages birth certificate said nineteen-seventy-five. Michelle’s had said nineteen-seventy-three. Brianna’s had been a year before that. Their other friends, Artem and Riley, had been seventy-six and seventy-seven, respectively.

Michelle had passed away in her sleep about twenty years before Mike Schmidt finally died for good.

And his death wasn’t even a natural occurrence.

Laughlin Schmidt, his lawful husband, assumed to be some form of cyborg like Mike had been, had cycled down for the last time. He was ancient no matter what standards were being used to measure his age. Having first been a sentient animatronic in the sixties, transferred to an android body in the nineties, Laughlin was old.

Michelle’s passing had begun a timer of sorts on both of them.

There was only so much that could be done with ancient minds, even in the newest version of a body.

Michelle had been one-hundred-and-three when she died. Her wife had died three months before her, laid to rest in a conjoined plot they had arranged. Up until her last moments, Michelle had been teaching her successors, her students, how to handle to era of technology she and her friends had been ushering in.

But Laughlin had cycled down.

Mike Schmidt had opened his eyes one morning and found Laughlin quiet and still on the edge of their bed. They had no children, no one to worry about when it came to leaving things behind.

Laughlin had been gone for about two hours, Mike estimated. His husband had managed to get hired as a theater director and his alarm had been set for six. Pushing down his fear and his anger and his sadness, Mike stood, sent a message to his friends, then headed for the kitchen. He grabbed the sharpest knife he could find and shut down his pain receptors, taking a deep breath before carefully skinning his arm open.

Underneath that was empty circuitry and beneath that was the mark that had sealed Mike Schmidt into his body for close to a century.

He stabbed through the careful lines of it, then closed his eyes and stopped moving.

The ghost was finally gone.

Mike Schmidt died when he was one-hundred and twenty-one years old.

 

 

 

The haunted house was a thing of beauty, he decided as he flipped through the cameras.

There were definitely people who thought differently, but this little beauty was going to make him money. They'd been finding hidden caches of the place's history all over, spread out as if someone had tried to separate it all out or something.

 

 

"Oh come on," he whispered, looking at the monitors. "Don't do this to me, don't do this to me, come on..."

It went static for a moment, leaving him to lean forward, the light flickering off of his badge. 'Fritz Smith' muttered nonsensically for a few moments, tapping carefully at the edge of the screen. "I thought this was supposed to be state of the art, what the hell-" he jumped when he heard something clattering around in the vents. "Okay, what was that?"

It sounded again, leaving him to swear softly.

 

 

"Sir, can you tell us anything about the rumors that there's been a murderer sneaking into the restaurant?"

He waved the reporter off, ignored the flash of camera bulbs as he headed for the door. Inside was the usual staff, the stupid little prick that had dragged his nephew from what he was meant to do standing at the stage. The little bitch was on the stage, leaning down to talk to him, her skirt rising an inch or so to expose the soft skin of her thighs.

The little whore.

He ground his teeth together, covering up the motion into a grimace when one of the others looked at him. She looked behind him, then back at him. "Do you want me to chase them off, sir?"

Her name was Gane, or something like that, he remembered.

Waving her off, he sighed. "It'll be fine, we just need to ignore them." he jerked his chin towards the door. "It's not like they have an actual story to report." he watched the Bradect boy wander towards the stage, his costume head in his hands.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Fact: Diana was meant to be a placeholder name for the little ghost girl. I was writing the story at odd times -- Think about 2 - 4 AM -- and staying in a house that I think might have actually been haunted. Diana is _my_ actual name. I always meant to go back in and replace it with something else.
> 
> Obviously, that did not happen. 
> 
> Anyway: The ending is coming and I thought you guys might appreciate reading the scenes that didn't make it, as well as my notes about ages and various character details and inspirations. And yes, I really did have, "DING DONG THE WITCH IS DEAD" as my note for when Orsani was dead. If you read that last bit with him -- he was a creep, a pedophile, a misogynist, and a murderous asshole all at once. I had always planned to do things that showed that, but I never found a place where it fit.
> 
> If you read this series, just know that I appreciate you.


End file.
